I need some input!

Hi friends, family and (possibly) fans. I’m not a poet, really. I have no formal training beyond my love of Whitman, Cummings, Frost, Blake and Shakespeare. But I keep trying.

And now I want to enter a contest. I’ve written a poem, revised and edited it for quite some time, and now it’s time to submit it. But first, I want to post it here and see if you all would give me some tips.

Don’t worry about copyright. It’s protected just fine.

Here it is:

Ice Cream

Trickles of light

in a hall of books toys clothes and cat food

eddy and squirm around me

casting my shadow

on hardwood

and

resting on four forms. They

settle gently, breathing softly, one snuffling in sleep

and others- lips parted stomachs sighing- sing.

My lovelies sing a harmony

of whispering breathing and sleep creeping close.

I imagine that dreams

begin to glimmer

behind their closed lids.

Eyes

both blue and green- an inheritance from she and me- see

nothing. But imaginations begin to fire and I turn

from the room.

My heart

is heavythick with memory of

climbing trees, houses bursting with strangers,

long lectures from non-parents

and

always moving.

Playing monopoly risk chess checkers cops and robbers

with roommates not family.

Who is my father?

Where is my mother?

Who are all these people?

Was this family- all jumbled confused and angry?

Was this life?

Filled with boredom, rigid rules

candles incense rituals oil

and

empty of motherhugs and fathertalks.

Was this disorderly, off-key, strain-to-fit

melody my song?

Her voice echoes

off glimmering hardwood

pictures framed and couches stained.

She spins

tales of crafts legos books tears and hugs.

This is the harmony I love

the song I sought.

Her hand, chapped from vented heat

touches my arm.

Her fingers

entwine with mine

and

her smile

filled with wifelove, mothersweetness

draws me back to light

to life- present, real, sweet like ice cream- and family.

So tell me what you think please. I will be submitting this on Friday morning.

And as for Servant of the King, when this week of getting submissions ready for contests is over, I’m going after it big time. I intend to get this book done within a couple of months, then revised and sent out and all of that by June.

I will be a successful writer. Why? Because it turns out I can write and I am pretty lucky. Plus– as the emperor in Return of the Jedi would say, “It is my dessssstiny.”

So even if my dad has to cut off my hand. Or even if I have to shrink, turn green and grow big, rotten apricot ears. Or even if I have to kick an ewok– I’ll be successful.

8 Comments

Mary Campbell
on February 17, 2010 at 2:03 pm

This is the poem you had me read in a crowded noisy room at LTUE. I thought the beginning part was about your childhood, but now that I read it again, I realize someone is looking at their sleeping children and looking back on their rough childhood and comparing it to the happiness and contentment of now. I would assume that your describing you own life.I really like the way you describe the sleeping lovelies. I'm very intrigued by the middle section. The childhood with no parent love and roommates instead of family with incense ritual oils. Love the line – Her voice echoes off glimmering hardwood pictures framed and couches stained.Good luck with your contest.